


Drill Weekend

by TheEvangelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accurate Military Depiction, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Military, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Clarke, Dom Lexa, Dom/sub, Edging, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Forced Orgasm, I had it checked with the highest sources, I promise, Military, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sub Clarke, TheEvangelion, Top Lexa, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvangelion/pseuds/TheEvangelion
Summary: Clarke comes home after a long drill weekend a little later than usual, and normally, on any given day, that wouldn’t be a problem. But Lexa has missed her and has some magic up her sleeves to de-frag her brooding little soldier. If there’s one thing Clarke loves, it’s when her wife Lexa plays commanding officer.





	Drill Weekend

The house is quiet. That kind of quiet that has unreturned hellos bouncing off the grey walls right back into Clarke’s chest. It was sundown, the sky burned outside with the intensity of it and set the kitchen on fire in shades of orange too. The cream cabinets, the dripping sink, the still warm kettle, all of it remained cast in that violent shade of almost evening.  
  
“Hello?” Clarke called again, wandering through the empty domestic terrain. Her duffle bag was set down on the dining room table, an empty water bottle by the sink, her kit pulled off piece by piece. “Oh Lexa?” She craned her neck around the door to the study. Empty. “Where art thou my fairest?” She called again with a smirk.  
  
There’s a note on the counter scrawled on the back of a bill. It read, ‘Upstairs. Bedroom. Now.’ Clarke glimpsed over it and smirked, her mucky hand twisting it round to see if there was more. There wasn’t. It was a brief demand, an easy one to fulfill.  
  
“You know you could have texted that? Defacing the water bill was just self-indulgent.” Clarke craned up and yelled at the ceiling, waiting for a telltale laugh. Once again, there was nothing. “Fine, have it your way.” She mumbled to herself and set off for the stairs.  
  
The climb was filled with that antsy kind of anticipation of what she would find in the bedroom. The weekend had been long and filled with misery. That specifically drawn-out, tiresome, organising an entire platoon into some semblance of order in the freezing rain for two days straight, kind of misery. It radiated through her entire body, sat on her shoulders, hung off her spine, had her rolling her neck loose before the last step onto the landing. There was only one thing in the entire world that ruined her life more than weekend drill. Her wife, aroused and eager for a reckoning.  
  
“Lexa?” Clarke poked around the door with a smile and caught the silhouette of her wife. “Found you.” She simpered and closed her eyes in preparation for the kiss. The mandatory, all important, I missed you so much, I’m going to spend all night pitying how terrible your weekend has been, kiss. Try as she might, tight as her eyelids grow, the kiss doesn’t come.  
  
“You’re grimey, Cadet.” Lexa lightly growled.  
  
Oh fuck. Clarke’s eyes snap open, suddenly aware and stiff. Lexa lazily span in the office chair with a smirk burned into her cheeks and a formal dress beret sat crooked on her head that had no business being there. Though, she was wearing little else and for that reason Clarke kept her mouth shut. She was inexpert in this game, a game they had only played once or twice. It was the one where her wife, so often Mistress and so rarely gentle at the best of times, played commanding officer.  
  
“That definitely isn’t AR 670-1 compliant.” Clarke choked out at the crooked beret and lack of all other clothing.  
  
“And who exactly are you going to lodge a complaint with, Cadet?”  
  
Clarke swallowed and stood straighter. There’s this way that Lexa moves, it’s an act of warfare. Everything from the way she gently tucks a long rope of hair behind her ear, the way she folds her legs over one another, the way she stares without a single fuck afforded for her lack of decorum. It leaves Clarke itchy and waiting for an order, exactly the inbetween where Lexa loved to keep her.  
  
Lexa stood and walked with long slow strides, and each one felt slower than the last. Clarke exhaled through her nose and raised her chin into the fingers that finally cupped underneath her jaw, the steely stare appraising her thoughtfully.  
  
“You’re dirty—”  
  
“You knew I would be!” Clarke burst with an exasperated chuckle and groaned a brief noise, aware where this was going.  
  
“Did I fucking tell you to speak?” Lexa raised a brow.  
  
“No Ma’am.”  
  
“Well would you look at that, she learns.” Lexa breathed and slipped a hand around the small of Clarke’s back. “You were due home at five. Who in God’s name gave you the novel fucking idea that wasting my time and arriving late was acceptable?”  
  
Clarke gulped and felt the shiver run up her spine as expert hands slipped around her back. Her body slumped forward bonelessly into the softness of her barely dressed wife. It was a mistake, one she would pay for, but for a moment Lexa does nothing but hold her like the axis that keeps Clarke’s entire world spinning. It earns a flushed smile.  
  
“Sorry I came back late.” Clarke groaned in her ear with hot breath.  
  
“Stand straight, now.” Lexa resumed her cool tone and set Clarke upright. “You think you can come in here falling all over me? You think you’re entitled to a god damn fucking thing from me?” Lexa growled a mere inch from her face.  
  
“No Ma’am.” Clarke gulped and slipped into the easy place where independent thought wasn’t necessary.  
  
“This comes off. You’re in my house now.” Lexa slipped her hands over the jacket with Clarke’s name tag velcroed on. The Velcro is tugged sharply off piece by piece and all Clarke can do is stiffen and hold back the bite as her rank and name tag land softly on the floor — humiliated and furious, more naked and vulnerable than she cared to be. Those tiny things were earned with calloused hands, long nights and longer days spent smoked on her elbows. They were things to be proud of. Things that made her indescribably her.  
  
“You’re not a Lieutenant here. Not a soldier or an officer or so much as a fucking Girl Scout. Do you understand me?” Lexa leaned in and growled it into her quivering bottom lip.  
  
Clarke twisted and bit that worked bottom lip. “Yes Ma’am, understood.” She said reluctantly, still the perfect soldier in some tiny context. She clung to it like a blanket, wound her fingers in it, welcomed the ache in her knees and the bruise along her thigh she earned this weekend. They all reminded her that this was make-believe. Just a beautiful fantasy to lose herself in.  
  
Though, a fantasy nonetheless.  
  
“What are you?”  
  
“Yours.” Clarke whispered.  
  
“That’s my good girl, maybe we’ll make something out of you yet.” Lexa dragged her fingers down the dirty t-shirt that peeked from the crack in the middle of her jacket.  
  
It’s enough to make her melt, enough to have her still and pliant in the hands of her wife. Lexa is expert in these games. Resolute and calm and unwavering. All soft green eyes and tightly wound lips. The jacket is pulled off and tossed somewhere near the bed, Lexa’s hands slip around her waist, it’s almost gentle, almost. A moment later nails are clawing their way around the sturdiness of her spine and all Clarke can do is melt.  
  
“You know what’s expected of you?”  
  
“Yes Ma’am.” Clarke said it easily enough without thought as her belt was undone.  
  
“And what might that be?”  
  
“Do whatever the ever-loving-fuck my Miss tells me to, Ma’am.”  
  
“She learns so fast.” Lexa hummed to herself with a smirk, pulling the belt away.  
  
Clarke’s hands moved from around the lazy grasp she kept around the small of her spine. It was a gesture of goodwill, her hands moving up to the regulation tight bun she kept four days a month for drill practice. Her head ached with the last three days of perfectly manicured bun, fingers itching with the need to tug her hair free and scratch her scalp and pout into the freedom of domesticity — now that was a fantasy. One that made Miss laugh as she slapped the hands away and put them firmly behind her spine again.  
  
“Do that again,” Lexa raised a brow and looked her up and down. “And I’ll send you to the garage for five-fifty cord and hang your wrists from the rafters until you’re on your fucking tippy-toes little girl. Do you hear me?” She barked and earned an instinctive submissive nod. It made Lexa tisk, “Trying to take your bun out. Are you purposely trying to look like a wild little scruffy thing for me? Is that what you want? Me to treat you like a wild little thing that needs taming?”  
  
“It’s not your worst idea.”  
  
“Are you insinuating I ever have a bad idea?” Lexa dared her.  
  
“My Miss? A bad idea? Good grief no.” Clarke swallowed and stood straighter, loving every second of this.  
  
“Maybe there is more than just a tumbleweed skirting around the pretty head of yours.” Miss slipped a tender hand around the back of her neck, kept it right there firmly over the top of her spine. It was strange, the way Lexa could anchor and settle her with just a firm hand or a drag of her lips. It was a magic trick, one that her wife performed at least twice a month at the most inconvenient of times. Maybe that was what made it so magic, Clarke decided as she melted into her wife’s grasp.  
  
“Now… when was the last time I gave you the belt?” Lexa hummed to herself.  
  
“Fucking Christ.” Clarke whimpered and bit her lip, and suddenly the blanket was snatched from her grasp. The bruise on her thigh, the ache in her knees, the soreness of her scalp, all of it become redundant in the foresight of the delicious bruises that would bloom her ass and thighs like violets in spring. They were her preferred flower, the kind she liked without need or reason — just because Miss felt like it and she liked wearing thin dark bruises on her ass cheeks like a stamped passport of exactly where she’d been.  
  
“Disgusting mouth, do you know that?” Lexa smoldered And reached around for the bedside table drawers, routing and grumbling and earning goosebumps down Clarke’s spine in the process. “I’d take these panties off and shove them in your mouth to gag you but you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” She appeared again and wasted no time shoving something offensive, black, small and lacy inside the hollows of her mouth. The material was soft but dry on her tongue, it tasted like fresh laundry, and in retrospect, Clarke would give anything to have the soft musk of her wife’s arousal in her mouth instead. “Ah ah!” Lexa barked again and pushed all of the material inside the open sputtering mouth until Clarke felt as if she was gagging. “Open your fucking mouth and take it before I put something a hell of a lot harder to take in there slut.”  
  
She is melted steel, sloping and bubbling and no longer fit for purpose. Somehow Clarke stays upright, knees shaking and officially desperate… and what made it worse? What made it downright offensive? Her wife broke her the all of eight minutes she’d been home for. A new record.  
  
“Get over the bed. I had a long list of nice things I wanted to do for you… wash your hair and feed you dinner and rub your back? I was going to spoil you. But then you have to go and remind me how undisciplined and… trying you are.” Lexa said with that disappointed yet purposely removed and reserved tone that made Clarke a weak little girl. “Coming into my house late? Who the hell do you think you are?” She felt the heat of her wife’s furious stare bore into the back of her head.  
  
Clarke groaned on the hot lacy panties in her mouth and wound her shaking fists into the sheets. She kept herself at a ninety-degree angle, chest on the bed, ass presented, sanity left firmly in the hallway outside. Two firm hands slipped around her hips and popped off the buttons, four buttons exactly, all undone with the expertise of a woman who is more than experienced with undressing this soldier in particular… and yet they never ever seem to come undone fast enough.  
  
“I’m going to give you the belt. There’s no particular number to count to, nothing you have to be deeply ashamed about, I just fucking want to.” Lexa leaned over the ridges of her spine and growled in the back of her ear with that hot breath that simmered and bubbled Clarke’s inner-most thoughts. “You know what to do.” Lexa slipped a hand into the loosely undone waist of her trousers, right down the side of her thigh until fingers nearly touched the side of her kneecap.  
  
It was a double-meaning, Clarke knew that. There were two things she had to remember to do specifically. Firstly, be loud and weak. Secondly, tap the thin white sheets if she wanted to safeword and stop. It felt like the kind of redundant training drill weekend comprised of half the time, training exercises and protocols she would probably never have to use, because god, she took great pleasure in getting her ass whipped into shape — literally. Still, Clarke nodded emphatically and moaned into the gentle hand that worked the side of her thigh.  
  
Lexa leaned back and the contact was sorely missed. Clarke settled the minute two hands pushed her further into the sheets, her shoulders and cheek perpendicular with the mattress. The trousers around her waist were tugged down to her mid thighs, underwear too, they were left right there instead of landing around her ankles and for some reason that made it all the more embarrassing.  
  
“You feel these?” Lexa slipped her finger around the space of the trousers that hung at her thigh.  
  
“Mhmm.” Clarke said, muffled through the underwear in her mouth.  
  
“You’re going to keep them there. Move your legs and drop the trousers? And I’m going to make Raven’s barbecue next Wednesday a real difficult sit-down dinner for you to get through. Do you understand me little girl?”  
  
Clarke melted and nodded her head. There was a violent kind of desperation that seeped from her, overwhelming and endless, dragging her beneath the surface of herself until all she could do proficiently was nod and focus on her one task.  
  
“Such a good girl. Hold them up or so help me god…” The creature above her growled with that fire in her belly.  
  
When the belt begins to lick her skin, that’s when the last dregs of duty slip away like the moonlit tide. There is an entire ocean of Lexa, an entire sea, a whole ecosystem to lose herself in, and the entirety of her training never prepared her for putting up any kind of lasting resistance to this. It’s too monumental. Too overwhelming. The belt beats against her skin like a drum and the rhythm in between, the tiny gasp between one sob and the next, that is exactly where she slips herself.  
  
“Such a good girl for me,” Lexa growled out the words between the bite of her teeth as the belt was brought down again. Clarke heard it cut through the air, heard the leather hiss and slice the room, and by the time it scorched her skin all she could do was yelp and jolt forward. Her legs shook, rumbled even, like they were creatures of their own… and yet still somehow she kept those slack trembling trousers around her thighs, ingrained with the singular purpose of keeping them up. “That’s it…” Lexa stopped and crooned over her spine, leaving hot gentle kisses in her wake that made everything soft and better. “One more. Give me one more, okay?” She cupped Clarke’s wet teary chin and pulled it round, staring with those smouldering green eyes. “You can take one more for me, right?”  
  
Clarke spat the panties out so she could gasp and steady herself. The words were stuck in her throat, disjointed and pulled-apart like the muscles couldn’t spit them out in succession. Clarke swallowed and let them sit there for a second, blinking and breathing deep breaths with Miss’s hand rubbing short tight circles on her spine. “Anything for you, Ma’am.”  
  
“So good when you want to be.” Lexa smirked and pushed her back down.  
  
The last one was the hardest. Clarke listened to the belt cut through the air again as it was snapped back, heard it whizz over Lexa’s head and slice the air like a torpedo. It crashed into her, exploded like a warhead, and between the wail and the instinctive clutch of the sheets — she was certain, absolutely, momentarily, that Lexa had severed her body in half.  
  
“Good girl, such a good girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay, it’s alright, it’s over.” A soft gentle voice nuzzled into her neck and the warmth of a naked body enveloped the entirety of her weak spine.  
  
Clarke shivered and melted, weakly sobbing and gasping into how turned on she simultaneously was. Her legs trembled, and that was the next thing she was aware of, they wouldn’t stop — and that in turn made the searing burn of her ass worse. Lexa was there though, astute and careful. The trousers around her thighs were slowly pulled off and her body was scooched further onto the mattress so she could melt and collapse and curl up.  
  
“Green, yellow, red. Do you want to stop or carry on?” Lexa said it softly without imposition, her whole body wrapping around from behind, arm on her waist and nose in the bridge of her shoulderblades. Clarke breathed, words stuck and shaky in her mouth.  
  
“Green. Green, green, green.” She said exhausted and urgently.  
  
There was a particular care Lexa took not to jostle her too much. Her knee slipped between Clarke’s thighs and pulled them open, one propping Clarke’s thigh open and the other slipping into the back of her knee lazily. It left her bruised sore ass gently grazing her brooding wife’s hips, though it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Not with fingers gently piquing and pinching her nipple lazily at least.  
  
Clarke moaned and felt Lexa bury her grinning face into the nook of her neck, a hand wrapping and pressing gently over her brow to keep her fixed into her wife’s shoulder. Lexa’s other hand moved from her nipples down to her belly, rubbing and teasing and making her shaky hips tremble with fingertips that dragged lightly into the inside of each thigh.  
  
“Do you want the strap on? The vibrator?”  
  
“Fingers, Ma’am.” Clarke didn’t forget herself, though she did gasp and whine. “Please, just you. That’s all I want.”  
  
Miss obliged her with a soft kiss into the crook of her neck and wasted no time canting fingers into her cunt. It sent Clarke lurching forward with a soundless gasp, her slick cunt gripping tightly on the two fingers that hooked into her front, right against her g-spot. Lexa’s spare hand found itself around her waist, holding her, petting her gently, but mainly just holding her. That was all Clarke wanted in this moment, fingers stuffed in her wet needy cunt and a tender arm slipped around her belly. Maybe soft words too, though she was too many worlds away to even make the distinction of her wife’s tongue.  
  
“You look so beautiful when you’re dripping like a dirty whore. I love you like this, you know that don’t you?” Lexa whispered and moved gently through her slickness. “See? Right there when I do that?” She pressed her fingers into that sensitive spot and made Clarke cry again. “You can’t expect me not to beat your ass if it means you make that noise when I fuck you. If we want nice things we have to earn them, right little girl?”  
  
“Anything you say, Miss.” Clarke whimpered breathlessly and rolled her hips forward. It proved a thankless difficult task at best, Lexa’s knee propped up her top thigh while a soft hand explored her. Whatever this delicious game was, however soft it may be, she was playing to Lexa’s rules. She knew that and made herself settle into the knowledge.  
  
“That’s it good girl, just relax for me, you know I’ll give you what you want right?” Lexa punctuated with a gentle kiss to her collarbone and slipped a third finger inside. It took Clarke’s breath away instantly, made the ceiling spin and the room turn to dripping paint. “Look at you, look how pretty you look.” Lexa pushed her head gently with the bridge of her nose, it left Clarke lying with her cheek on the pillow, staring right at the dress mirror beside them. It was the perfect picture — pink cheeked and tear stained she stared helplessly, Lexa splayed her thighs open with her knees and fucked her with reckless abandon and from the angle of the mirror… Clarke saw it all. Her flushed vulva, her slick needy cunt, Lexa’s fingers thrusting into her lazily. It made her taut belly even tighter.  
  
“L-Lexa, I need to cum.” Clarke’s breathless needy words fell out of her mouth and wrapped around the room like bubblegum around the forefinger.  
  
“You can ask nicer than that.” Lexa straightened her out and fucked her a little harder.  
  
“Ma’am, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything you say — just please let me cum. Please.” Clarke started to whine.  
  
“Mmm, you’ll take the garbage out?” Lexa hummed with a smirk and did that thing with her fingers, that impossible fluttery thing that made Clarke’s entire body turn into a puddle.  
  
“For the rest of my life!” Clarke cried out and clenched her eyes.  
  
“And you’ll clear the guttering?”  
  
“You’ll be able to eat your dinner off that fucking thing Ma’am I swear to god!”  
  
“Well… that does sound promising.” Lexa wrapped her tighter and thrusted a little deeper, claiming what was hers. “You know I’m giving you this by the grace of my gentle fucking heart right?”  
  
“You are the fairest lady! So kind! So gentle! So benevolent! Lexa I swear to god please I’ll do anything just make me cum. Please, p-please.” Clarke whimpered and felt herself gently cry again. “I’ll be so good for you Miss I promise.”  
  
There’s the tiniest growl that leaves Lexa’s lips as her g-spot is attacked with the kind of attention that makes breathing a manual affair. It’s violent and animalistic, a gift and a promise that this—them—Clarke’s orgasm, Lexa twirled all of it around her left ring finger effortlessly. Clarke belonged to her. That was the deal.  
  
“Cum like a whore for me.” Lexa thrusted hard and fast. “That’s it!” She snapped her fingers out and rubbed her clit in fast tight circles.  
  
The room explodes with a boom, the walls engulfed and dripping with the drawn out sobs of a little broken Lieutenant who arrived home just a few minutes too late for her wife’s liking. Clarke sobs and sobs those wailing broken noises, bucking and groaning and completely drowning in her submission. It’s a delicious reckoning, an awakening even, something deserved and wanted. Lexa doesn’t stop — that’s the most delicious part, instead she rolls and clambers until she’s between her wife’s thighs and fucks her even harder, dragging that second and third orgasm out of her bucking hips until Clarke is crying and clinging and digging her nails into the sturdiness of her spine.  
  
“That’s it good girl, you can cum. Come for me little one.” Lexa crooned and forced her fingers in so deep Clarke felt them in her belly. “One more, just one more for me.” She whispered softly and kissed her jaw and lips and every inch in between.  
  
By the time Clarke collapses a pleased and sobbing husk of a woman, Lexa is there. Just Lexa. Miss and Ma’am and every facet of her in between disappears into the headiness of that last orgasm and all there is, is her soft and gentle wife — pulling her to her chest and stroking her head.  
  
“You were so good. You were such a good, good girl. Do you know that?” Lexa promised with that little possessive growl and kept her little puddle together in her arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.” She promised and nuzzled.  
  
Clarke licked her lips, tried to lift her head and failed miserably. The fourth orgasm caved her in like a controlled demolition, left the thickness of those orgasms settling over like dust in the wake of that explosion. Instead she settled without words and melted into her wife’s chest, lying there and being tended to.  
  
By the time her bun is pulled out and tentative fingers make work of her sore scalp, scratching and rubbing and working the three day ache right out of her hair — she can just about understand English again.  
  
“Sleep baby.” Lexa hums into her, “You’ve got a gutter to clean tomorrow and four spiders to kill.”  
  
“Four?” Clarke groaned huskily.  
  
“I trapped them. You were gone for the weekend and I didn’t know what else to do with them…”  
  
“Not so tough, are you?” Clarke prodded her with a grin.

 

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